


Marking

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dirty Talk, Feminization, M/M, Mild Feminization, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Derek, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slurs, THIS IS REALLY GROSS LLMFAO, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Urination, Watersports, because derek doesn't exactly ask to do anything he does, if i need to add anything else please tell me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles get weird in a bathroom stall.</p><p> </p><p>this is pure smut dudes i just needed this the hell out of my drafts it's been staring me in the face for months please forgive me<br/>HEAVILY, HEAVILY, UNBETA'D. I READ THROUGH THIS LIKE ONCE AND THERES A LOT OF MISTAKES BYE</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking

Derek crowds Stiles into one of the bathroom stalls, backing him up into the toilet until he can reach behind him and shut the door, sliding the lock quickly with a sharp _shk_. Stiles is already beginning to sweat profusely, his nerves spiking as Derek maneuvers him against the wall with a hand on his throat. The human tries to act casual, but the laugh he produces is obviously nervous.

“Right here? Right now?” He says, tilting his head back against the stall.

He doesn’t get a verbal answer, of course, because we’re talking about _Derek Hale_ here, and he doesn’t waste words unless they’re going to leave Stiles twitching in his briefs or blushing profusely. Instead, Derek reaches down with his free hand, rubbing firmly at Stiles already hardening cock through his jeans. If he hadn’t been so nervous, he knows he’d already be rock hard. Something about this new found game Derek and him would play, how the wolf would handle him, roughly and quickly, it drove Stiles crazy. He’s on the edge of overthinking it before Derek changes the angle that he’s grinding his palm against Stiles’ cock at, and the boy’s mind goes blank.

“Derek.” Stiles rasps, eyes falling shut as a thumb rubs firmly at his throat.

He tries not to but his hips, but it’s impossible when Derek starts undoing his jeans while simultaneously sliding his other hand up to Stiles’ jaw, slipping his thumb between pliant lips. He doesn’t suck at the finger, just parts his lips more and runs his tongue against it, thicker and rougher than he thinks it’s going to be. Derek watches the soft tongue lap at his thumb for a moment before he appears to snap, suddenly gripping a shoulder hard and flipping Stiles roughly so his front is now pressed against the wall. He lands with a loud slam and Stiles wonders if anyone in the bathroom could hear them, though he doubts anyone would care because half the people at this club are drunk out of their minds, and if they’re not drunk they’re probably high as hell. Still, the thought of being caught out excites the both of them. They’ve only done this once before, fooled around in public, and it was in the woods where no one was around to hear.

“Gonna fuck you right here in this stall, Stiles,” Derek’s hand is back at his neck, this time pressing his face against the stall.

Stiles whimpers, trying to push his cock forward for some kind of friction.

“Open up your tight little asshole,” He pulls at the back of Stiles’ jeans, yanking his briefs down along with them.

“Make you moan like the little slut you are.”

Even just the words make Stiles release a soft, breathy moan, trying to get a good look at Derek behind him, but ultimately failing against he grip the wolf still has on his neck.

“Hope all these nice people don’t hear you, hear how much of a cockslut you are for me.” Derek drawls, leaning in close to breathe on Stiles’ neck.

The hand gripping his pants slips away and Stiles’ heartbeat skyrockets, assuming that Derek’s already doing to fuck into him. He isn’t sure he’s ok with that, not sure he can take Derek’s cock without any preparation, but all the same the thought of it makes is cock twitch and his brain feel fuzzy. But then he hears a small click of a cap and knows exactly what the sound is, has heard his own bottle of lube click open too many times to not immediately recognize it. He gasps as Derek pours the cold substance just above his ass crack, undoubtedly watching it run down smoothly before pressing at Stiles’ hole with a harsh finger. Stiles tries not to, but he can’t help but inhale sharply through his teeth as the finger pushes in quickly. But he knows he’ll get used to it quickly, always does, always needs it too much, so he relaxes his body as best as he can.

“Good boy.” Derek coos in his ear, twisting his finger around and pressing at the walls of Stiles’ asshole.

Stiles cheeks flush at the words, somehow loving the praise just as much as the insults and humiliation. When he got like this, he couldn’t remember, but he has a feeling is coincided with seeing more and more of a certain leather-clad werewolf.

“I think that’s enough.” Derek says lowly.

Stiles tries to turn his head around to give Derek a look, but he can only just see the stoic expression on the wolf behind him and knows instantly that there’s no use in complaining, and he isn’t even sure he would anyway. His line of thought is interrupted when Derek releases his neck in favor and gathering both of the boy’s hands above his head, tucking both slender wrists into one hand. The other, Stiles can feel, starts lining up a hard, smooth cock at his entrance, wasting no time before pushing into the slick warmth. Stiles arches his back involuntarily, both craning against the intrusion and pushing back against it for more. He can’t help the pitiful, choked off moan that escapes.

“That’s it, baby, take my cock, just like that.” Derek smooths a hand against Stiles’ hip, humming more and more shameful words into his cheek.

The human falters for a second, tight muscles fluttering around a cock that was nearly too big for this, right here, right now, in this god awful club bathroom.

“Fuck, Stiles.”

The hands grip harder at his hip and wrists as Derek rolls out and back in smoothly, glancing down the watch the pucker shift and pull around his dick while Stiles moans bashfully through his heavy breaths. Then Stiles flat out yips because Derek is rolling back and forth again, this time faster. He’s abruptly being silenced with the hand that was once on his hip, reaching around to press against his mouth, a large, muscled forearm pillowing his cheek from the stall now.

“I’m gonna make you my fucking bitch, Stiles,” Derek growls, starting a rhythm that Stiles thinks is too much, too fast.

The noises he starts making are only just muffled by the hand across his mouth and he’s sure most people in the bathroom can hear them anyway, which excites him so unexpectedly that he gets even louder.

“Breed your pussy,” Derek snarls, pressing his lips against a flushes and freckled cheek as he talks.

He slams in roughly before pausing, pulling Stiles’ face in impossibly close to his, cheeks smashed together through sweat. Derek’s voice comes out low.

“Mark you.”

Stiles whimpers urgently because he _knows_ what that means. He’s learned enough about wolves to know how exactly it is that they mark things. Almost as if Derek had taken the whimper as a command, he begins moving again, this time faster and harder than he’s ever gone on Stiles before and the boy is nearly shouting under his hand, eyelids fluttering and fingers flexing wildly. The force of it pushes Stiles’ hips awkwardly against the wall, knocking into it every time he shoves back in and Derek’s pretty sure they’re shaking the whole damn stall structure. He’d be more worried, but he sees it as a victory that he’s restraining himself enough to not just knock it all the fuck down. He can feel the buzzing warmth down low start nagging at him, and he doesn’t plan on coming in Stiles’ yet, but slams in a few more times for good measure anyway before pulling out.

“On the floor.”

Stiles doesn’t even hesitate before kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, staring up at Derek with lips red from the press of his hand, with eyes misty and cock standing at attention despite the way Derek had relentlessly fucked into him. He couldn’t resist but push the toe of his boot up against the boy’s cock, and Stiles nearly felt like he was being mocked.

“Shirt off.” Derek ordered, clenching and flexing a fist at his side, eager to get on with this.

Again, Stiles obeys without hesitations, and it’s almost funny to him how different he gets when Derek starts playing with him, how his sarcasm and defiance vanish into thin air. When Stiles gets his shirt all the way off, he’s surprised to be twisted awkwardly around, Derek’s hand gripping his grown out hair and shoving his face down against the toilet seat. His cheek landed right between the two halves, so the edges of the seat pressed against his face uncomfortably, but any attempt at shifting was halted by the grip still in his hair. One of his hands was braced on the seat and for some reason that felt dirtier than his mouth being millimeters away from the same exact surface, but he couldn’t hold his weight just with his face. He was resting on his hip, his legs curled haphazardly sideways, but he still attempted to peer up at the older man despite the awkward angle. The werewolf was crouched down close, head tilting slowly in a nearly serpentine way, and it made Stiles tense. Derek bit his tongue for the moment, held back the filthy words he was thinking, wanting Stiles to bask in the quiet of the humiliation of letting himself into this position.

The quiet didn’t last long though, because as soon as Derek had stepped forward, slightly straddling his legs above Stiles and bracing a hand on the wall behind the toilet, the words starting falling again.

“Fucking filthy bitch.” His eyelids lowered now, his lips parting to reveal uncharacteristically adorable teeth.

He snaked his hand down to his dick, despite not needing or being able to angle it any better than he had.

“You wanna taste my piss, Stiles?” Derek asks.

Stiles doesn’t bother to respond in any way because he knows the question is rhetorical, knows Derek knows he doesn’t care about the piss but more about the fact that what they’re doing is nasty and pretty fucking weird, knows Derek’s just taunting him. He flinches the liquid starts falling, happening all to fast for him to be able to react in any other way. It’s warm and the smell is so strong and Stiles’ gasps in a quick breath of air at the sensation. Derek takes the opportunity to aim directly for Stiles’ mouth, piss splashing against his lips and cheek and thoroughly spraying his face and neck. It seems like an eternity that Stiles is there, Derek looming over him, _marking_ him, but finally it lets up and Stiles is gasping in air that he didn’t realize he was missing.

Derek hauls Stiles up then, grasping roughly at his neck and shoulder and bending him forward so quickly he nearly doesn’t catch himself and brace his arms against the wall in front of him. He’s so distracted by the burning embarrassment of the mess they’d just made (’ _in a public fucking bathroom_ ’) that he doesn’t notice Derek’s kneading at him, thumbing his ass cheeks open to prod at his hole, still messy with lube.

“You think there’s other werewolves here tonight?” Derek asks, though Stiles bites back a sarcastic answer.

“Think they’ll be able to smell me on you? Smell who you belong to?”

Derek sounds absolutely gone and Stiles can just see the lusted out look on his face without even having to actually look.

“I smell like fucking piss, Derek, they wont have to be a werewolf to smell it.” Stiles snaps out, but immediately regrets it when Derek’s fisting his hair and wrenching his head back.

“Good.”

And then Derek’s shoving back in so fast Stiles is forced forward, face nearly smashing against the wall. The werewolf’s hand moves from his hair to his shoulder, pulling him back onto his cock, while his other grips at Stiles’ hips, suddenly elongated claws pressing at his skin, threatening to puncture. ’ _Fucking werewolves and their piss fetishes_ ’ Stiles thinks to himself, knowing it’s pushing Derek to the edge. Derek picks up the pace to a punishing speed and Stiles is wondering if he’s even coherent at this point because usually at this point he’s leaning in to growl some freaky shit in his ear, though if he could hear it over his own yips and moans he doesn’t even know.

Suddenly, the hand on his hip inches closer in and Stiles thinks maybe Derek is just spreading him open, just so he can look down and watch his cock disappear into his ass because he knows the werewolf loves to _see_ it, but then a thumb is pressing in alongside his cock and Stiles bites his lip, bristling. He’s never taken anything bigger than Derek’s cock up his ass and the feeling of it makes his back bow and the thought of it makes him want to turn around and slap him, but it feels so good to know that he’s being fucked and stretched and taken that his brain short circuits.

“F-fuck!” Stiles yips as the finger pulls at the ring of muscle encircling Derek’s cock.

He hears someone outside of the stall bark out an awkward laugh before mumbling to their friend and it’s only then that Stiles notices his cock is fucking hard and he isn’t sure which one is worse, knowing that other people are listening or knowing that it’s getting him off. Derek thrusts in especially hard, making Stiles stumble forward, chest against the wall and straddling the toilet, but Derek follows and crowds him in, thumb slipping from it’s position in his ass.

“I knew you liked people hearing you moan on my cock.” Derek says into his ear, low and triumphant.

“Ffffuck off.” Stiles hisses, trying to keep his voice down.

“I can smell it on you, you know. I can smell how embarrassed you are and I can smell how hard it makes you.”

Derek’s keeps still as he reaches around and grips Stiles cock maybe a little too hard. Stiles whimpers and pushes his cock into Derek’s hand, needing to get this the fuck over with already. Surprisingly, Derek complies, running his hand up and down roughly, not enough lube.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock and everyone in here is gonna be able to hear it, Stiles.” Derek says into stiles jaw, breath hot on his cheek.

And just like that, embarrassingly fast, Stiles thinks he’s close to coming, can feel the pressure inching dangerously close to the threshold. And just as soon as it’s there, Derek’s pulling back out and slamming in again, like he’s smacking Stiles awake from a dream. Only here and now, the smack wakes him straight into a different sort of fucked up dreamworld and the pressures still there and it’s warm and Stiles thinks his head and dick might explode at the same time.

“Come on, Stiles, cum on my cock like the needy slut you are.” Derek’s growl this time is more for himself than Stiles and Stiles can sense that, can feel the tension in Derek’s jaw when he says it.

It’s thrilling because Stiles is reminded that he’s being used, that Derek probably only wants him to cum because it’ll make Stiles tense down onto his cock and because it’ll give him a confidence boost, one that leaves that fucking smug look on his idiotically chiseled features. It sends a chill down Stiles spine, but its warm and it’s heady and it goes straight to his dick right as Derek’s starting to ram into him, right as his cock rubs against his prostate, right as his hand twists over the head of his cock and Stiles doesn’t know if he’s closing his eyes or if he’s suddenly blind but he’s fucking coming because he can’t hold himself together any longer.

And and soon as Stiles starts coming Derek’s hand is off of him and onto his hip, both hands gripping and pulling him back onto his cock like a rag doll. But the angle Derek’s at and the brutal pace he’s set drags Stiles orgasm out and it’s fucking killing him every time another shudder runs through his body and he’s almost positive there’s no more cum left in him. He can feel the moment Derek cums because his hands pulse in their grip and it snaps Stiles out of it because that fucking hurt and he’s seventy-five-percent sure a certain someone’s claws have just punctured his precious skin.

Stiles comes to fully just soon enough to catch the tail end of Derek’s grunts and his cock makes one last spent twitch at the sound. Derek braces himself on the wall Stiles is still pushed against, boxing Stiles in while he comes down from his orgasm. His breath is heavy on the back of his neck and Derek rubs his sweaty forehead against Stiles hair.

“Come on, dude, I’m already covered in your piss, I don’t need to smell any more like your nasty-ass self.” Stiles huffs out.

Derek actually chuckles, albeit minutely, running his head up against Stiles’ hair one more time.

“A little more couldn’t hurt.”


End file.
